Oh, lonesome man,
the lady hides in a stolen frame
too far from the tracks;
your chest is its cradle when
you cry for the way back home;
but rain will never blot the love
and destination of the ride is nigh;
after all, Georgia’s tracks are
as long as the night, and your
life is nowhere but in God’s hands.
Author notes
http://www.zshare.net/audio/6150180905698887/
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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This is wonderful. I am really picky. Again, wonderful.
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This is beutiful and very short and to the point!!!
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Thank you
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He will never let you fall. I remember as a child hearing train horns in the night, in the distance, somehow sounding lost . . . looking for the dawn.
There is the quite of stillness in this poem. Very well done.
Garrison
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Beautiful, wisdom in sadness in fact
David
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